


Take Them Away (From the Nightmare we Made)

by Sciatic_Nerd



Series: Elrond & Elros Save their Foster Fathers and Therefore the World [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (Toddler?), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Elrond speaks gangster, First Meetings, Gen, I'm just speaking nonsense now, Lisps, The Cuteness of Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sciatic_Nerd/pseuds/Sciatic_Nerd
Summary: When people thought of how the Feanorians had taken the twins from Sirion, they often imagined dramatic scenes.The twins huddling in a closet or being held back by Maedhros in the adjoining room, swords at their small throats, as Elwing screamed her defiance and threw herself from a tower or a cliff. In reality, Maglor was sure, that if they had come across the boys gripped in the full fury of the Oath, they would have either ignored them or killed them too. It was just the sort of monsters they were, now.But they were lucky, and instead Maglor came across them two or three hours after the killing had finally stopped, when he was trying to wash his newest sins away into the sea.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: Elrond & Elros Save their Foster Fathers and Therefore the World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831777
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Take Them Away (From the Nightmare we Made)

**Author's Note:**

> *The twins were born at 532, and the Havens fell in 538, I’m having our half-humans age roughly half as quickly as humans, but not as slowly as Elves, so they’re 3-4ish  
> *I don’t remember where I read it, but I remember reading somewhere that the twins wouldn’t tell the Feanorian’s what their names were, so they named them themselves (I read it on the internet so it must be true)

Maglor stumbled away from the smoking ruins, up along the river Sirion, dead-eyed and hopeless, wrapping his cloak around him like a blanket. His last brother (and hadn’t that been an impossibility just a few hundred years ago) had collapsed into a silent state, where he saw nothing, felt nothing and knew nothing. He had first seen it, after Maedhros’ rescue from the Thangorodrim, but it only really began to worry him after Fingon’s death, when the tragedies had begun to pile up beyond bearing (five brothers dead, all his little brothers dead, wouldn’t mother and father be so proud of them, so very, very proud of the absolute failures that they were).

Normally, as the one closest to his elder brother, often geographically if nothing else, he was the one who stayed and cared for him and did his best to pull him out of his dissociation. But now the twins were dead and the only Silmaril not lost to Morgoth’s hands had gone beyond the sea, and he had nothing left in him to build his brother back up. Not when he had been so horribly broken himself (they were dead, they were all dead).

Maedhros wouldn’t notice his absence anyway. Not yet.

A handful of his remaining followers were trailing after him at a distance. The small part of him that was left of the spoilt prince of Tirion had once been railed against it, whispering that he was Maglor Feanorion, that he had survived this long, that it would take more than an ambush to kill him, so why should he have to let these minders trail after him? (And if he didn't, would that truly be such a bad thing?)

He told it to shut up. Only an idiot took more than five steps from their camp alone since the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and he was already destined to fall into ruin, there was no need to throw himself into it headfirst. To make it more painful than it had to be. To abandon Maedhros to his own devices.

Reaching a small waterfall with a few creeks that ran into the river and surrounded by lush greenery, he staggered to a halt. His people halted, a few paces behind, but mercifully remained hidden, respecting his privacy. He didn’t know that he would be able to look at another Elf in the eye at the moment, let alone talk to them, especially the people who had trusted him. The ones he had led into another pointless bloodbath.

He slumped down at the waterline, and ever so slowly, with actions more akin to those of an elderly second-born than a (dispossessed, _exiled_ ) prince of the Eldar, and began to wash away the blood.

As the blood finally disappeared down the river he felt a little more like a person and less like an orc, a little less fragile and less liable to shatter from either touch or sound. The world around him slowly grew less over-bright and the sounds he heard became recognisable once more, as the rush of the river, songs of the small birds, the rustling of small mammals who passed unseen in the underbrush.

And the small whispering hiccups of a child crying, “Stranger, stranger, El’, El’ where is you? Good stranger? Bad stranger? El, ‘tis a stranger.”

He blinked. It was a child, still very young, obviously, but he had still learnt several important lessons. Maglor had likely been here a while, though he couldn’t be sure how long he had tarried here without reacting, still the child was quiet in his cries for aid.

Maglor’s first instinct was the stand and approach the child directly, but everything he remembered of his brother (and they were all gone now, gone, _gone_ , **_gone_** ) told him that was a horrible idea.

So he did what he always did when he wanted to calm someone down.

Without looking up from the water, he began to sing.

It was a small, silly little ditty, the sort that he remembered even if he hadn’t sung it in centuries, the kind he had sung to every child on his sprawling family tree. Though only he and Maedhros remained to remember it now.

And for a child who was young and innocent, who saw only a fair face and form, who heard only a pretty voice and a funny story it worked a charm. The panicked breaths slowed and towards the end the soft giggle he managed to draw out of the child sparked a smile he couldn’t, didn’t, bother to hide.

The child toddled out, smooth, sparkling river stone in hand, to stare at him with brown doe eyes, “who’s you?”

Maglor hesitated, his Sindarin name was not one he could give a child outside his camp and expect it to end in anything except disaster. But some days he forgot that he had been anything but Maglor Feanorion, scourge of Beleriand.

It was amazing that a mere five hundred years could be such a long time.

“You can all me Cano,” he answered, Cano for Canafinwe the long dead, Cano for a genius prince who had more cousins than fingers and who had been so self assured, so safe that he hadn’t known what pain and cruelty was until he had inflicted it. “What are you doing out here? I’m sure your mother will be worried, it’s not safe.”

The child looked confused, “but we’s alsways comes heres,” he slurred.

“Do you not have an adult with you?”

“Nope,” he grinned, “just El!”

Maglor blinked, remembering the child had been calling for someone, “and where is El?”

Thoughtless as only the truly guileless could be he pointed towards the waterfall, “In cave. To finds Dwarves.”

Holding his hand out, Maglor tried not to frown, “can we go find him? I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here, we should go find your Naneth.”

The child just shrugged, taking his hand without thought and calling out to his friend, “El! El! I founds a big person who sings pretty! Dids you hear?”

Turning to Maglor he continued to babble as they hopped over a set of slippery stones that Maglor was certain his mother would not have allowed even Celegorm to play on at this age.

“El likes Dwarves. Nana doesn’t. Ada likes Ed-ains” he said, pronouncing the word carefully.

“And what do you like, little one?”

“I likes birds,” he replied solemnly, “they haves feathers.”

"Very sensible," he nodded, then, gasping exaggeratedly Maglor picked the boy up before he could attempt a jump that looked a little too dangerous, “I forgot to ask, if I’m Cano, and El is in the cave, what’s your name?” he asked, bringing the child up to look him in the eyes.

He giggled, “I’m El too!”

“Really, but then how do you tell each other apart?” Maglor asked, reminiscent of a question he had once asked the twins.

The boy shrugged, “we both be El, since forever.”

Maglor couldn’t help but grin at the idea of such a small child talking about forever, but it disappeared when he heard a thud coming from within the cave.

El by the river twisted round in his arms and yelled, “You okay?”

“Okay!” called back a cheerful voice that didn’t sound any older than the elfling in his arms. That didn’t bode well, Maglor thought, so much for an older, if somewhat irresponsible sibling.

As Maglor ducked inside he withheld a sigh of relief, the cave itself wasn’t too big but it had plenty of rocks that any child would have a ball climbing all over.

“Who dis?” El in the cave asked, looking up from grazed palms.

“Cano, withs the pretty voice.”

“Pretty voice?” El in the cave asked, curiousity piqued.

Maglor smiled, “come on El, if you come to the water we can wash your hands and I can sing you a song to make them better.”

Both elflings looked at him with wide eyes, “you cans do dat?”

“Mmhm,” Maglor nodded, “come, let me show you. And while we do that why don’t you tell me how it is that you both ended up with the same name?”

El in the cave just stared at him as he led both boys out, but El by the river had obviously decided to trust him and as such he was much more forthcoming, “Nana said Ada should name us. But he’s still away on his boat.”

“Hmm,” Maglor frowned, “I had twin brothers and have known of several other sets of twins besides, but this is the first time I have seen two children of one family given the same name. It doesn’t feel right. How about this, I’ll call you Elros,” he said to the first child he had met, then turning to the other he continued, “and you Elrond.”

Elrond bristled, “you can’t name us! Dat’s supposed to be for Ada!”

Applying a twisted version of logic Maglor defended himself, “I never said those were your names, just what I’ll call you, have you never had an episse before?”

The boys looked up at him, Elrond with suspicion and Elros with curiousity, “what’s an ep-isse?”

“A nickname,” Maglor replied crouching down at the stream, “now, out your hand in the water.”

“But it’ll hurt,” Elrond complained, making a face.

“I know, but we don’t want dirt to get caught up in the wound,” Maglor explained, “that’ll just make it hurt worse for longer.”

It took a little more coaxing but Elrond finally complied and once his hand had been in the water for a more than a few seconds Maglor began to sing the same ditty he had for Elros just a few minutes earlier. The only difference was that this time Maglor reached with his fëa and twined it to his voice so that the song’s effect had a more solid effect on the reality around them. It was, perhaps, a little bit of a waste of power, to bend such an unrelated song to his will, but considering the awe on the twin’s faces as they watched the wound disappear under newly healed skin.

For a moment they were absolutely still, staring dumbfounded at Elrond’s hands before Maglor gently teased, “you can take your hand out of the water now.”

The boy scowled, snatching his hand away, and exclaimed, “I know dat!”

Before he could reply one of his few remaining lieutenants stepped out from the cover of the bushes, and said, “Sir, the scouts have reported possible orc sightings from the north. I advise we return south and regroup with the rest of the army.”

The news wasn’t anything he wasn’t expecting to be honest, the Orcs were rarely far behind them these days, but the report distracted him enough not to notice the way the boys stilled beside him.

Maglor sighed and muttered under his breath, “and just how much further south can we hope to retreat?” before raising his voice, “very well, we’ll take the children too, hopefully we’ll be able to find their family closer to Sirion.”

Turning to the children he crouched down even further, so he could look them in the eye, and tried to affect an expression that was as serious as their situation without being too frightening. Eru knew there was nothing more fatal to a plan than panicked children.

“Boys, I need you to come with us, if you stay here the Orcs will find you and—”

“Liar!” Elrond snarled, trying to tug his arm out of Maglor’s arm in vain, as Elros muttered with wide eyes, “nots good, nots good.”

“The red star is bad! You is bad!”

They continued to dissolve into a panic, Elrond devolving into angry shouts and Elros into terrified, babbling murmurs. Maglor looked back at his lieutenant, but the other man was no help, to be honest he shouldn’t have been surprised, Idhrenion hadn’t been particularly good with children even when they were back in Valinor and very few of the Eldar who had come to Middle Earth had gotten more patient when dealing with people.

Maglor turned back to the children and tried to channel Maitimo (not Maedhros, the difference was an important one), silencing them with one firm word, “Enough,” and if he had had to rely on power where Maitimo had never needed to, well, they all had their own talents, and Eru knew the only talent Maglor had that was worth speaking of was his voice.

“It doesn’t matter how bad I am, I can promise you that the Orcs are worse.”

“You killed Nana’s family!” Elrond exclaimed.

“And if you don’t come with me now the Orcs will do worse than just kill you.”

Elros stared up at him, horror and dread clear in his eyes, “whats wills they do?”

Maglor hesitated, how could he explain this in a way that a child could understand?

“They will hurt you like they hurt my brother. Over and over and over again, until you can only wish you would die.”

Elrond seemed mulish, but Elros tugged his brother’s sleeve and spoke in a voice softened with dread, “El, he’s speaks true.”

Elrond frowned at his brother but seemed to back off and Maglor couldn’t help but sigh with relief. Before he could pull away it was Elrond who grabbed hold of his arm in a dogged grip, digging his nails in deep enough to make Maglor hiss reflexively.

“You won’t hurt El. Swear.”

Idhrenion stiffened but Maglor couldn’t help but think it fair, if Elwing had been smart she would have made the return on the Silmaril dependent on a counter-oath from the Sons of Feanor. She would have been able to bind them to anything.

“I, Canafinwe Maglor Feanorian, swear, I will do everything I can not hurt El of Sirion, also known separately by the episse Elros and Elrond.”

Maglor noticed their dumbfoundedness at the revelation of his name, but he no longer had the luxury of time, the increasing rustling from the forest told him everything he needed to know about just how close the Orcs were.

They needed to get back to the main force as quickly as possible, he didn’t have the forces to hold against a patrol of anything, not with two children to protect.

“Come. Quickly. We don’t have time to spare. Elrond you go with Idhrenion, Elros get on my back. Don’t let go for anything,” Maglor ordered. Elros seemed to be the softer and more unsure of the brothers, it wasn’t an indictment of Idhrenion but Maglor wouldn’t be comfortable unless he had Elros with him.

They set off, he and Idhrenion in the centre of their small group with their precious cargo.

“How far out are they?” Maglor asked as the last of his followers rejoined the group.

“A league, perhaps two. But they’re warg riders.”

Idhrenion let out an impressive string of curses eliciting a reflexive, “don’t copy that,” from Maglor to the twins. How easy it was to fall into past behaviour, he thought, remembering all the younger brothers and cousins he had taught the wonders of language and a wide vocabulary.

They ran, hoping that the word the scouts had given them was enough to get them all to safety. Maglor couldn’t do anything other than silently berate himself for going so far from the rest of his people. He hadn’t thought he had wandered so far, but the time they had all spent running proved otherwise.

Howls rang out through the air and footsteps far too heavy to be theirs grew into a thunderous raucous behind them.

“Not too far to go now,” Idhrenion murmured from his left as Maglor readjusted Elros into the cradle of his left arm, his right inching ever closer to his short sword.

The Orcs were so close behind them, too close, and growing ever closer, Maglor had no doubt that if he turned back he would be able to see them through the trees. He was so focused on the threat behind that he took no notice of the smoke billowing up into the air before him.

“What has Maedhros done now?” he snarled, when he finally realised Sirion was burning.

“Does it matter?” Idhrenion questioned, “as long as he hasn’t cast himself into the flames alongside the dead I really couldn’t care less.”

“Then you’d better pray,” Maglor replied, “the last time Maedhros set fire to something was the day Fingon died. It’s never a good sign.”

After a moment he couldn't help but acknolwedge the positive, it was important to keep track of them, "at least he's back in the moment," then to the group at large he ordered, “it’s the last stretch. Run! As fast as you can!”

He needn’t have bothered, Maedhros always knew, when the servants of Morgoth drew near him and even at the final breaking of their spirits, at the final proof that their Oath would forever remain unfulfilled, he stepped into view, his reinforcements no doubt already hidden in the trees.

Maglor skidded desperately to a stop, managing to avoid a collision with his older brother, only for him to use his handless arm to drag him into one of his bone crushing hugs, which would’ve been fine, if Elros hadn’t been caught in the middle. Elflings were delicate creatures.

“You’re alright. You’re alright,” he heard Maedhros chant under his breath like a mantra.

“Maedhros, I’m fine. So I need you to pull yourself together. There’s a warg pack on our tail.”

The relief in his brothers eyes turned to cold fury, “not for long,” looking at Elros, who was frozen in Maglor’s arms, “who is this?”

“Elros and Elrond,” Maglor replied, gesturing to each child as he spoke with just a hint of challenge in his voice, “they’re twins, I found them not far from Sirion.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow, “and what were you planning to do? Take care of them yourself?”

“Well I couldn’t just leave them there, could I?” dancing lightly around the topic of a set of twins Maedhros hadn't been able to save.

His brother’s shoulders drooped, “I suppose not, not with a warg pack so close. Very well, take another four of mine, just in case they’ve gotten smarter and want to try their hand at tactics,” Maedhros commanded.

Maglor nodded and four of his brother’s people slide down from the trees, materialising before them. He turned to Idhrenion, “Give Elrond to me, stay with my brother, make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

His lieutenant looked as though he would have liked to argue, but Maglor was not in the mood to argue, they had neither the time, nor the resources waste, “Idhrenion,” he warned, and his lieutenant, proving himself not a fool once more, gave in without argument.

Elrond, not willing to even entertain the thought that he might be separated from his brother, slid off Idhrenion’s back without prompting and trotted up to Maglor’s side, just as the first warg crashed into the clearing.

They all reacted in a split second, Maglor drew his sword, pushing Elrond behind him, Idhrenion stepped forward to shield all three of them but it was Maedhros, as always, who made the difference. He drew his one-handed broadsword, long enough that no-one else could lift the thing with any level of ease, let alone wield it, and took three long, predatory steps towards the scouting warg rider who seemed to be increasingly aware that this was not the group of straggling refugees he had been expecting and that, instead of the Elves, it would be he who would suffer the most in this encounter.

“Red Demon,” he whimpered in terror, eyes wide with dread, fixed on Maedhros’ form.

Maglor didn’t know much of the Black Speech, but he knew the name the Orcs had given his brother and was proud of it. Long before Maedhros had ever been a scourge to Elves, he had been so to the armies of Morgoth. That, more than anything else, gave him hope that they could still defeat Morgoth. For the Enemy feared very few, his father and uncle definitely, the Valar, though he couldn’t believe that they could ever be moved to action, and his elder brother.

Even dispossessed, his family was one of incredible strength and talent.

His mouth twisted into a grin made all the more horrifying by the deep scars on his face, “you know who I am little yrch,” Maedhros purred, “so unless you wish to learn exactly what it is that comes after death for your kind, I suggest you turn and leave, and take your pack of slobbering mutts with you.”

Maedhros took one last threatening step forwards before the Orc turned tail and fled, tilting his head towards Maglor he said, “there, at least one problem has been solved.”

Maglor couldn’t help but roll his eyes, even as the twins looked at his brother with wide eyes, full of worship. “You made da monsters go away jus’ by looking at dem,” Elrond’s voice was hushed with awe.

Maedhros snorted, “everyone runs from me, kid. It just proves that I’m the bigger monster,” turning his attention back to Maglor he continued, “now what do you plan to do with them. It’s a long ride to Amon Ereb.”

Maglor sighed, “I was planning to look for some of Gilgalad’s people and have the children go with them, but since you’ve obviouslu set fire to Sirion I doubt there’ll be anyone there to talk to.”

Obviously realising that they would be passed onto someone else the twins both yelled simultaneously, “no!”

Elros, still clinging to his arms, looked pitiably up at him, “can’sts we stay?”

Whereas Elrond adopted his usual mulish expression, “you is de strongest, you can best keep us safe, so we should stay.” When Maglor remained obviously unconvinced the elfling’s frown deepened and he crossed his arms over his chest, “we _stay_.”


End file.
